less than monstrous
by dragondark
Summary: What might have happened at Mick's apartment. An alternate ending to episode two Out of the Past.


disclaimer: I do not own _Moonlight_ - that honor belongs to CBS.  
notes: Intended as an alternate ending to the second episode, beginning from the last scene in his apartment. Related spoilers apply.

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**less than monstrous**

He doesn't realise she's there until she says his name.

"Mick?"

His shaking hands clench; blood catches in his throat. Josef's right. He's off his game, and it doesn't matter that he's been staked and nearly subjected to a fiery death in the same day, it shouldn't have been so easy for Beth to get the drop on him.

"You ran off again," she says. "One second, you were there and then you were... gone," There's a tremble threaded finely through her voice. It tightens as she spots something amiss. He can all but hear the sharp intake of breath, the widening of her pale eyes... "Are... are you okay?'

The hot fluttering beat of her pulse.

It's instinct for a wounded vampire to seize on the first opportunity to feed; even so, he's ashamed. He hunches his shoulders and grits out two words: "Please leave."

He can taste the blood, still heavy on his breath. She'll smell it if she comes any closer, smell the taint of death all around her and how he's tainted with it. How could she not?

But her answer rings clear and steady and assured: "Not without answers."

Focused now, he can hear her steps falling across the floor, drawing ever closer. He should finish drinking, shift back to a face that might be mistaken for human, find a way to explain away the blood. Explanations - he's good at those. He's lived for eighty-odd years; he's had to be. But she's coming closer and closer, and he can't seem to remember how to move.

Beth steps around the pillar and he crumples to the ground, clutching a bag in one hand. "I keep dreaming about you," she says softly. "Why?"

In a moment, he knows, she'll come back around the pillar towards him again. She'll see the fangs, the inhuman eyes, and she'll know beyond a doubt that he's a monster.

"You know," someone else says. Both of them look reflectively for the source - to the door. Lounging comfortably in the frame, Josef toasts them with an invisible glass. "I've been wondering for a long time now what to say to my friends when they get hurt, or sick. 'Get well soon' just doesn't cut it these days, you know?" He steps inside, still smiling. "But 'I keep dreaming about you', that's just... wow. Do -- do you mind if I write that down?"

All the softness falls from Beth in an instant. She presses her lips together. "Who are you?"

"And again with the wit!" Josef clasps his hands over his heart. "Oh, she's clever." His eyes focus and his hands drop to his sides; there's a gleam of silver before he flashes another fangless smile. "You must be Mick's blonde reporter. Looking for a story?"

"I--"

"If you want Mick here," she throws Mick a fleeting glance, but Josef has already stepped between them, "for another scoop, you're going to have to wait. I'm not sure he's up to dream interpretation right now. Tell you what, I'll check his schedule for tomorrow."

As he speaks, he's crowding Beth towards the door. Bewildered at first, she rallies by the frame and straightens, gazing defiantly up at Josef. "You haven't told me who you are."

Their eyes meet. Josef smiles into the silence. "I'm Josef," he says. "And, oh, let me guess. In addition to being Mick's blonde, you are also..." He steps closer, bending his lips to her ear. "Leaving."

Even behind Josef, Mick can see pieces of Beth's expression: exasperated, bemused, and a little afraid -- before she shoves him, hard.

Josef rolls back onto his heels and forward again, still smiling. "Nice to finally meet you," he says, and shuts the door in her face.

All his bones turn to water. He knows that he should be irritated and concerned for Beth and a variety of other things, but all he can think of is the fact that for one more day, she won't know him for what he is: monstrous.

He doesn't remember Josef until he crouches down beside him.

"Damn," Josef says, "you are a wreck. Get up, for God's sake, or change your clothes. You're clashing with the room."

"You didn't have to come."

Josef scoffs. "Yeah. Because you had it all under control."

Mick slumps against the pillar. He rises slowly, aware all the while of Josef's sharp gaze waiting for him to fall. "I-- I did."

"Uh huh. Right. You had her exactly where you wanted her." Mick ignores him. Instead, he concentrates on staggering over to the couch without making it look like a stagger. Weakness is something Josef has no time for. It's a mystery beyond the knowledge of any private investigator as to why he even turned up. "The fact that you also had teeth like a Rottweiler's -- just a sidenote, something you could have easily explained. I'm sure fangs are something she looks for in all her potential boyfriends."

He turns clumsily at this, but Josef has vanished into the kitchen. "I'm not--" Mick starts, then gives up. He collapses onto the couch with relief. "Spaulding's dead," he calls.

Josef returns, flourishing two glasses and a bag of blood. "Oh yeah? That's good. One less reason to get rid of you myself." He sets the two glasses on the table and pours.

"I thought you didn't like my blood," Mick observes tiredly, after a short silence.

The corners of Josef's mouth twitch slightly, stilling on a too-obvious joke. "Well, I would have brought my own, but I remember that you have objections to that. You know, you should really rethink this thing with morals. It's doing wonders for your brooding face, but your eating habits..."

He offers a glass; Mick accepts with still-trembling hands.

"You need to be more careful," Josef says after they drink.

"I didn't know you cared."

"With the blonde. With everything, actually. Leaving the door open after you come in - the pitchfork mobs would not have thought twice about you, my friend."

"I wasn't going to tell her..." He trails off, then amends guiltily, "I wasn't going to tell her... everything."

Josef shakes his head. "Ninety perfect years. No getting caught, no messy corpses. Suddenly one blonde," he gestures, "sails by and you're ready to spill everything at the drop of a body. This is what we call sad."

Mick exhales. "I know."

"That's good." Josef lifts his glass. "A toast. To not screwing up my life for a blonde."

Caught off-guard, Mick laughs. A smile lingers as he raises his bloody glass to the light, and together they drink in silence.

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**end**

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author's note: Crit of any sort would be lovely. :) 


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